


Give Me The Sun

by KasumiAFKGod, projectml



Series: Project: Bug-A-Boo [2]
Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, project bugabOO
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-09-15 13:47:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9237698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KasumiAFKGod/pseuds/KasumiAFKGod, https://archiveofourown.org/users/projectml/pseuds/projectml
Summary: Join me, Necromancer, and no one will ever have to lose their loved ones ever again.’ But bringing the dead back to life was never meant to be something within the realm of human ability.





	

Mid-autumn air chills the winds over Paris, the midnight’s dark chased into the skies by the lights gleaming across the city. Dazzlingly bright lampposts and vehicle headlights outline geometrical blocks of buildings, the softer glows from lit windows dot the dark shapes of symmetrical apartment complexes and shophouses. They bathe the city in oranges and golds, while the moon and her stars watch on, casting their silver upon the wispy clouds.

Even with all this beauty before her, Marinette shuts her eyes. Seated on a ledge at the very top of the Eiffel Tower, she swings her legs as she draws another breath, letting the exhale carry away the tensions of a long day. The wind picks up, raking its frigid fingers across her exposed cheeks. The magical Ladybug suit protects her from its touch but does nothing to quiet its howling in her ears. Still, if she focuses hard enough, she can hear—

“Out on patrol so late, My Lady?”

Squeezing her eyes shut tighter, she suppresses a smile. She isn’t wholly successful, and it escapes as an upward twitch of her lips.

“I could ask you the same thing, _minou_ ,” she quips, tilting her head back in the direction of his voice. She keeps her eyes closed. “It’s not exactly a decent hour of the night.”

“Oh, but you see My Lady, this kitty was actually on a _cat_ rol while you were guarding the spotlight of the Eiffel Tower. It’s a lot of ground to cover by myself, you know.”

Guilt stabs at her chest. Her recent neglect of her superhero duties must be bad if Chat Noir has noticed. Marinette heaves a sigh, the mirth leaving her tone as she drums her fingers upon the wrought iron ledge.

“Sorry, Chat. I’ve just … needed some peace and quiet.”

‘ _And a place where I could just stop thinking for awhile_ ,’ she almost adds. She holds it back, though the words weigh heavy on her tongue.

“Something on your mind?” he asks from directly behind her. A soft thump precedes the warm press of his back to hers, and in her mind’s eye she can see him resting an elbow on one of his knees as he fiddles with the end of his tail.

“I’m not really out here for patrol,” she admits, leaning back into his comforting presence as her shoulders sag. “I know I haven’t really been on proper patrols for weeks now. Sorry you have to pick up all my slack, I’ve just ….”

She bites her lip, words dying in her mouth and she finds herself at a loss as to how to continue.

“It’s all right, Ladybug. You don’t owe me an explanation,” he says, his shoulders shifting against her spine as he twists to rub at his neck. “It’s something you’re not ready to talk about, isn’t it? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

She smiles, nudging at his elbow with her own. “Thanks, _minou_.”

“Just know that when you _are_ ready, I’ll be right here, okay?”

Hearing the grin in his voice, the tension in her gut uncoils ever so slightly as she gives him a smile of her own.

“Okay, I’ll remember that,” she says, rising to her feet and dusting off her suit. Raising her head, she takes in the view of twinkling stars dotting the night sky like diamonds strewn over dark silk. The view never fails to take her breath away.

“Hey Chat?”

His answering hum sounds almost like a purr, reverberating through the air.  It thrums through her ears and inspires a surge of affection for him that warms her chest and spreads to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

“Thanks,” she tells him, allowing the sincerity to saturate her voice and soak it in that one word.

She knows without having to look, could recognise that lopsided smirk in an instant and hear it in his voice.

“I’ll always be here as long as you need me, Ladybug.”

She smiles at that, snatching up the yoyo at her hip.

“See you later, Chat. Get home safe, okay?”

Launching the yoyo, she zips away, leaving the gusting wind at the top of the tower.

—

Morning brings a grey sky and sombre air as students trickle into the school, yawning and grumbling as they pull their jackets tighter around themselves. At this hour, the air retains an echo of the previous night’s serenity, and the few students already present speak amongst themselves in hushed tones.

Seeking refuge from the cold, Marinette is already in the classroom and in her seat. Fiddling with the bracelet around her wrist, she stares at the space in front of her where flaxen hair illuminates the room, breaking the monotony of dreary grey. This is how Alya finds her when she walks in, freezing to a stop in the doorway with wide brown eyes.

“Good morning,” says Marinette, tearing her eyes away to glance over at her best friend.

Those brown eyes blink. “Morning,” greets Alya with a familiar smile, ascending the steps to reach her seat.

“It’s … rare to see you at school so early,” says Alya, as she plops her bag on the shared table and drops into her chair beside Marinette. Marinette doesn’t miss the pause in the sentence, but finds that she can’t blame her dubious tone. Marinette Dupain-Cheng is never early to class. On time? Yes, on a particularly good day and if the night before held no last minute akumas or 1 AM superhero discussions, but never early. Let alone among the first ones to arrive.

“I just felt like a change,” Marinette hears herself say, her tone a touch too light even to her own ears. The truth is that she hasn’t slept, not since she snuck back home through her terrace and laid in bed with golden hair and soft green eyes and gentle laughter plaguing her mind until morning came.

She can see that same golden hair in the corner of her eye now, fluttering with the breeze flowing in through the open windows.

Alya half-opens her mouth as if to say something, then closes it and purses her lips, reigning back whatever she’d intended to say. She reaches out and pats Marinette’s elbow.

“Just don’t push yourself too hard, okay?”

Before Marinette can ask her best friend what she meant, a bustling in the doorway announces the arrival of Nino and Kim and the question slips her mind.

—

Up on the rooftop, the sun-warmed wind blows free, providing sanctuary from prying eyes and curious ears of the students who’d rather spend break time gossipping in the courtyard or the nearby park. Leaning on the cross link fence and trusting the flimsy metal to hold her weight, Marinette stares absently down at the moving figures below, reduced to blurred shapes. Dangerous as it is, she isn’t afraid she might fall.

“Marinette, if you don’t stop doing that I’m going to have to resort to some drastic measures.”

A smile touches her face, but she doesn’t move from the fence. “Like what?” she huffs, shooting a sidelong smirk at the boy seated on the concrete floor a few feet away.

“Don’t make me go over there!” threatens Adrien, flashing her a grin and waggling a finger in her direction. She sticks her tongue out at him in reply.

“Come and get me then, kitty!”

The answer to the challenge is almost immediate. Lightning fast reflexes has Adrien closing the distance between them in several strides. Marinette barely has time to react before a pair of arms are wrapping around her midsection and hoisting her into the air. She grasps at his shoulders, breaking into fits of laughter as he spins her around and drums his fingers along her sides.

“S-stop!” she manages to squeeze out between desperate gasps for air and breathless laughter as she tries to fend him off, swatting at his hands. He is relentless, redoubling his tickling.

“Never!” crows Adrien, voice already flush with triumph. She thrashes, trying to get away. Their centre of gravity shifts and they topple to the ground in a breathless, giggling heap.

Basking in the warmth of the midday sun takes the edge off from the cold breeze sinking in her skin and the freezing concrete at her back, the chill seeping through her clothes. Warmer than the sun are the prodding fingers that seek out hers, needling at her open palm. She links hands with Adrien, watching the plain grey sky above them.

“You know, I still have to give this back to you,” says Marinette, waving her free hand above their heads. The handmade lucky charm bracelet she once gave him dangles from her wrist, the beads glinting merrily in the harsh light of the sun.

“Maybe one day,” says Adrien, “but I think you need it more than I do right now.”

“But I’m Ladybug. I’m Lady Lucky,” she reminds him. “I’ll be fine.”

He sighs. “I mean it, Marinette. You might be Ladybug and all, but accidents can happen and I want you to take better care of yourself.”

“I wasn’t going to fall,” she says, a smile stretching across her face. “I know you’ll always be there to catch me.”

There’s a pause, then Adrien’s next words come slow and quiet, as if he’s considering every syllable before speaking it. “Not always. I can’t be there all the time.”

A frown mars Marinette’s face, shattering the picture of contentment. She turns to face him, concerned gaze falling on green eyes that continued to look up at the cloudy sky.

“You promised, though.”

“And I meant it,” said Adrien, his hold on her hand tightening a fraction. “But we’re just superheroes, Marinette. Not gods.”

“What do you mean?”

He closes his eyes, a sigh leaving his parted lips. The sight causes a sliver of unease to cut through Marinette. She sits up to fully take him in, back ramrod straight. Tension hardening the set of her shoulders.

“Adrien,” she calls, her tone shaky. “What do you mean?”

“Marinette? Is that you?”

Alya’s voice cuts through the air, abrupt and jolting like whiplash. Flinching, Marinette wrenches back her hand. She bites back a squeak and glances over her shoulder, eyes wide. Her best friend stands in the doorway to the rooftop, one hand holding the door open as she peers at her. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one,” comes Marinette’s quick reply as she jumps to her feet, dusting herself off and striding to the door. “Come on, class is starting soon.”

She doesn’t look at Alya as she brushes past her. Doesn’t want to see the pitying look in her warm eyes.

She does hear the dull thud as Alya lets the door close, leaving her unanswered question out in the cold breeze of the rooftop.

—

“You didn’t come back to class today.”

She hears Chat stop dead in his tracks, the proverbial deer caught in the headlights before its run over.

“Yeah,” he says after a stretch of silence so thick it clogs up her lungs with cotton, almost suffocating her. “Lots of stuff going on. You know how it is.”

“Everyone was worried.”

“Yeah,” he repeats. “Sorry about that.”

The silence is almost deafening with how it stretches between them.

“Marinette.”

She tenses, fingers digging into the crooks of her elbows. She doesn’t turn around.

“Marinette, this needs to stop.”

She bites her lip, not trusting herself to speak, jerking her head back and forth. Midnight blue pigtails whip across her damp cheeks.

“Marinette, please, you need to—”

“ _No_ ,” Marinette hisses, shocking both of them with the venom in her tone. “No, I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to hear any of this.”

She glances over her shoulder to the sight of her partner raising a hand as if to stop her, but she’s already cast her yoyo line and vanished from the edge of the tower.

—

“Please, please eat something,” begs Tikki, flying up to hover in front of Marinette’s face. “You don’t look well, Marinette. At least have some bread?”

Marinette looks up from running her fingertips over the beads of the bracelet, throwing a glance at the untouched box of cereal and bowl of fruits on the breakfast table before returning her attention to the bracelet.

“I’ll have something later,” she mumbles.

“Pack it to school, then?” wheedles Tikki. “In case you get hungry before you get home.”

Nodding mutely after a brief pause, Marinette plucks a paper bag from the counter and descends the stairs into the bakery. Hearing clattering noises in the kitchen, Tikki darts into the purse. Her mother stands at the island table, assembling a mille feuille with a cautious eye and steady hand. She glances up as Marinette enters, surprise registering over her face.

“Oh, good morning, Marinette! Are you going to school?”

“Good morning, _maman_ ,” Marinette replies, the words coming in autopilot as she absently walks over to give Sabine a hug. “Yes, there’s an important assignment due today and I don’t want to trouble Alya and make her come over to pick it up.”

Sabine purses her lips in a concerned frown. “All right, if you’re sure then. All the same, come back home if you don’t feel well, okay? You look like you could use the rest.”

“Don’t worry, I will,” she calls over her shoulder before stepping into the bakery. Picking up a pair of tongs, Marinette begins collecting pastries.

After slipping in a fifth croissant and a third chocolate eclair, Tikki peeks out of the purse and sends Marinette a questioning look.

“It’s for Adrien too,” she explains, folding the bag closed. “He’ll be hungry.”

—

Things begin to crumble once Chloe catches sight of the Dupain-Cheng branded paper bag on Adrien’s table.

“That’s it, that’s enough!” shrieks the blonde girl, startling everyone in the room and probably the whole building. “For god’s sake, isn’t anyone going to _tell_ her to her face?”

“Chloe,” says Miss Bustier, reaching out a hand for Chloe’s shoulder. “Don’t yell at your—”

“Adrien is _dead_!”

Marinette stutters to a stop, freezing in place. Chloe’s words fly from glossed lips like thrown daggers, shredding the fragile tapestry of her make-believe world and cutting through Marinette’s chest. Wide sky blue eyes stare back at narrowed icy ones, Chloe advancing toward her in three big strides.

“Adrien is _dead_ and you need to stop your ridiculous delusions, Marinette! Or I’ll—”

“Leave her alone!” Nino barks, stepping forward to intercept Chloe, blocking her approach. Behind her, Sabrina rests a timid hand on Chloe’s elbow. Chloe stops, but the seething, spitting look in her eyes still reaches Marinette as if she’d slapped her across the face.

“No, I won’t,” says Chloe. Everyone’s eyes are on them now and even Alya seems stunned into silence at the turn of events, but Marinette can’t see anything beyond the bitter rage burning in Chloe’s eyes. “I won’t. Not unless I hear it from her with my own ears.”

“Hear what?” Alya interjects, glaring daggers at Chloe who doesn’t even spare her a glance.

“Admit it,” says Chloe, voice shaking, barely above a whisper as her eyes narrowed further. “Admit that Adrien is dead.”

Ice runs down Marinette’s spine as she draws her arms to her chest, trying to ward off the sudden cold spreading its frigid fingers through her veins.

“No,” comes her even quieter reply. Shaking her head, Marinette takes a step back. When had she gotten to her feet? “No, that’s not true.”

“Admit it!” Chloe repeats, tone fiery with conviction as she wrenches free of Sabrina’s brittle grip and makes to approach Marinette again but is stopped by Nino. She grabs his arm, trying to pull him aside, but he remains solid in place like a boulder. “Admit it!”

“No.”

Was it the room or her hands shaking?

“You can’t pretend forever!” Chloe’s voice has almost risen to a screech by now, actively trying to break out of Nino’s restraining arms to swipe at Marinette. Tears run down her cheeks along with her ruined mascara, her once immaculate ponytail in disarray. But for once, the mayor’s daughter doesn’t seem to care. “Do you think you’re the only one who cared about him? Do you think you’re the only one who misses him? Do you think— _do you think_ —”

A sob cuts through the air as Chloe sags in Nino’s arms, the fight abruptly leaving her as she sinks to the floor on her knees. She swipes at her face with a manicured hand but fresh tears spring from puffy, reddened eyes and run down flushed cheeks.

“He—” she hiccups, burying her face in her hands. “He was _my friend_ too.”

It’s too much. Marinette turns tail and flees, ignoring the calls of her friends to come back as the world around her blurs from the film of her tears and she dashes away, needing to be anywhere but here.

—

When Marinette comes back to herself, she finds herself crouched on the highest platform of the Eiffel Tower with her damp face buried in her knees. Sniffling, she raises her head, taking in her surroundings. The evening sky above is clear, coloured in oranges and pinks from the setting sun casting its last rays over Paris. Frigid gusts of wind weave through the tower’s latticed iron,whispering over the spotted red suit and carding through her hair. The Ladybug suit, usually a comforting presence over her skin, now feels constricting, confining. As if it is squeezing her from the outside in.

She wills it away with an idle thought, and watches herself return in a glimmer of pink and white. Without the protection of the suit, the cold cuts through clothes and skin, right down to the bone. Though she barely notices it from the numbing chill over her body.

 _He’s not here_.

Marinette draws her knees closer, hugging them as she curls in tighter into herself.

_He said that he’d be here. He said that he’d be right here. He promised._

“Marinette?” Tikki calls uncertainly. Turning her head, Marinette’s hazy mind registers the sight of her kwami hovering by her ear, forehead pinched in worry.

“I’m fine, Tikki,” she hears herself tell Tikki, but her own voice sounds as if she’s hearing herself from miles away. As if she is in a dream. Nothing around her felt real. Marinette drops her palms to the floor, clenching her fingers on the iron beam to ground herself, but she barely registers the hard material bruising against her knuckles.

“No, no you’re not,” says Tikki, voice soft like dandelion as she shakes her head. “You’re far from okay, Marinette. I’m your friend, so is Alya. And Nino. And so many other people. You’re in so much pain, and it may sound like a lie but we do understand.”

Fingers clench harder, nails biting crescent marks into skin.

“We’re here for you.”

When had she started biting her lip? Screwing her eyes shut? When did this rage building in her chest start to crackle and burn away the numb?

“If you’d just let us help you—”

“Help? Help me? What is there to _help_?” Tikki starts as if she’d been hit by a pebble, staring wide-eyed at Marinette. Blinking, Marinette duly registers her own surprise at the bitterness in her own voice before she brushes it off like dust from her shoulder. Insignificant. “No one was there to help Adrien, no one was there to save him, but we all fancy ourselves saying that we were his _friends_.”

“And they _are_! _You_ are! He was Chat Noir, he was fully aware of the risks he was taking, but he still chose to—”

“And I was the worst of all of them, wasn’t I?” Marinette continues as if Tikki had not spoken. A humourless laugh escapes Marinette’s lips, and she’s vaguely aware of an impending sense of doom but it all feels so far away in the wake of this all-consuming fire burning before her. “Ladybug, his partner. And I couldn’t even save him when he risked his life to protect mine.”

She can see it in her mind, on instant replay every time she closes her eyes. Akuma captured, but Chat fallen and prone on the ground. Black ring slipping from his finger, the light leaving his eyes as he—Chat, Adrien, the boy who was both her best friend and her greatest love—reached for her with bare, outstretched fingers. His final words echoing in her ears like a broken record.

“ _You know, I’ve known for a while now … Marinette_.”

The sweet, gentle smile she would never see again.

“That silly cat. Trying to be a hero… But he already was.”

Her fingers return to the bracelet, fingertips ghosting over the assorted beads and knotwork. “He always was. He didn’t need to die. He-he didn’t have to….”

Something changes in the air, as if the wind had suddenly stilled and all sound had been sucked from the atmosphere. In the sudden supposed silence, the flapping of tiny wings is deafening.

“ _Marinette_!” Tikki shouts, zipping towards her. “Marinette, no! Don’t lis—!”

A familiar sense of power flows through her as Tikki enters the Ladybug earrings, just as a black butterfly vanishes in a shower of dark sparks into her lucky charm.

A foreign surge of energy erupts in her wrist, spreading through her body like wildfire racing through her veins. Jolted from her numbness, Marinette flinches as if stung and stumbles to her feet. Falling back and reaching for the strength her Ladybug powers granted her, Marinette pushes back, trying to fight off the dark butterfly’s power. Agonising heat explodes in her head as if her skull was in flames, painting her vision white. Shrieks rip through air, screams Marinette vaguely realises are coming from herself.

‘ _He didn’t have to die_.’

Marinette stills, freezing in place with her hands over her head as if to keep it from bursting. She wheels around, searching for the speaker but the platform holds no one but her and the merciless wind.

‘ _He could have lived, he could still be alive, but he sacrificed himself. And for what? For people who claim to be his friends, who only care for him once he’s dead and gone_.’

Something is telling her not to listen, to keep on fighting, but the voice has her full attention. It pulls unvoiced words from the conflicts of feelings she’s had for weeks. Balm to an open wound; not a cure, far from it, but a welcome relief.

‘ _But it doesn’t have to be that way. I can bring him back, if you lend me your power_.’

“What?” she asks out loud.

‘ _Join me, Necromancer, and no one will ever have to lose their loved ones ever again_.’

The foreign power thrums through her veins like an electrical surge and she grits her teeth, steeling herself.

“Hawk Moth,” she says, uttering the name like a curse. “You have a lot of nerve.”

‘ _I am merely being pragmatic_ ,’ comes his reply, cold and distant like a faraway mountain. ‘ _I am offering you a chance to right what was done wrong. With our strength combined, there is nothing we cannot accomplish. You will have Chat Noir back, and those who never cared for him will realize the error of their ways_.’

Fury rushes through her, burning hotter than the akuma. It  collects in her chest, heat gathering in her heart and scalding like live embers.

“You’re the reason he’s gone in the first place!” she yells. “You have no right to even speak his name!”

The heat grows almost unbearable as the embers burst into flame. The fire rapidly grows into an inferno, consuming her from the inside out. Consuming both the powers of Ladybug and the akuma. Consuming _her_.

She lets herself burn.

‘ _Wait. What are you doing? No! Stop this! You don’t know what you’re—_ ’

A burst of light envelopes her and drowns out the voice, the burn consuming everything into one. When Marinette next opens her eyes she is completely alone in the silence of the Tower.

Hawk Moth’s voice does not echo in her head. Neither can she feel Tikki’s presence in her spirit. Instead what greets her is an all-consuming sense of raw _power_. Abruptly conscious of herself, Marinette looks down to see her usual clothes replaced by a costume that was not her Ladybug suit. A deep red cloak of translucent smoke wraps around her shoulders and falls to the floor like a shroud. The knee-length dress flares at the skirt, midnight black like her gloves. A black ribbon winds around her neck, the ends flowing along with her loosened hair. Striped stockings encase her legs, alternating blocks of wine and scarlet red that end in black ballet flats.

 _Akuma_ , some part of her realises. _I’ve become an akuma_.

But one more powerful than the others. She is free. The others were subject to Hawk Moth’s control. Whatever Tikki had done, it had protected Marinette from Hawk Moth’s telepathic influence.

For a flash of a moment, some semblance of concern over Tikki’s absence flickers in her chest before the flames raze it to cinders.

A grin, unnatural and detached and not exactly _her_ , reaches Marinette’s lips.

—

“ _Incredible reports are flooding in from all over Paris of the dead coming back to life in what seems to be yet another akuma attack. At the present time, there is no sight of the akuma or either Ladybug and Chat Noir and the authorities are doing their best to—_ ”

Flicking her eyes away from the computer screen, Marinette turns to appraise her room. Night had fallen as she had worked through the evening, testing the extent of her new-found abilities. Her eyes alight on the full round moon as it gazes back at her, its silvery light flooding in through the open window and so bright that she didn’t need to turn on the lights. All is quiet. The peace of the night belies the chaos ruling through the city of Paris, where Marinette knows those she had resurrected now roam the streets with blank unseeing expressions as those who had known them in life shriek in terror.

The thought dredges up mild confusion from Marinette. Weren’t they happy to see their loved ones again? People can be so confusing. But she supposed that she can’t blame them for their shock. After all, they hadn’t gotten any warning of such untimely reunions.

But no matter. It is time for hers now.

Standing to cross the room, Marinette picks up a photo frame, letting her red-painted nails trail over the picture—one of those taken on the day the class had their impromptu photoshoot in the park in Juleka’s honour. Zeroing in on Adrien on one side of the group shot, she pauses to take in his laughing countenance. And there she finds the smile that she loves so much, the twinkle in the eyes she thought she might never see again.

Holding the photo frame to her chest, she closes her eyes and pictures him standing before her, whole and happy once more. It doesn’t take as much effort as it had with strangers, for she knows every curve of his face, the shape of his eyes, the exact golden shade of his hair and the lilt in his voice when he calls her—

“Marinette?”

The photo frame drops with a muffled flump onto the carpet and she whirls on her heel.

There is no mistaking who that smile belonged to.

“Adrien!” She launches herself into his arms, holding him to her as if he was a lifeline. “I … I thought I’d never see you again!”

He is here. Solid under her hands, flesh and blood and not her imagination. He’s come back!

Except … no. Something felt wrong. Off. Like the vague, uneasy feeling of something important being misplaced. Marinette pulls away slightly, looking into his eyes. A good, hard look.

They are the exact shade of green she remembered, but cold and unblinking, staring back at her like the moon had done in her distant ponderings. No emotion, no love.

No soul.

Leaping back from the blond boy and scrambling away as if she’d been burned, Marinette flashes him a seething look.

“You’re not him.”

He stares back at her, once expressive green eyes unreadable as he observes her from the distance she established between them. It’s not far enough. She takes another step back.

“You’re not real.”

His empty slip blessfully shut, shoulders drooping as his breath leaves him in a sigh. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re just a ghost.” Marinette’s voice quivers like a leaf in the wind, and she feels as if the world is crumbling beneath her feet all over again and she has nowhere safe to stand. The _thing_ in front of her is not Adrien. Not even human. It wears his face and speaks with his voice, but it is a mere shadow. A spectre. “You’re not _really_ him.”

“I am a manifestation of how the people Adrien Agreste left behind remembered him,” says the ghost, still watching Marinette from the same spot she left him in. “It was your will that called me here.”

“I don’t care. Go away!” Marinette’s voice rises with each word, the burning fury returning with a vengeance as the shock ebbs away. “You have no right to use his face or his voice and stand in front of me and speak for him. Leave!”

“I can’t,” he says. “Not unless you let him go.”

“ _Leave_!”

She lunges forward, swiping a hand at his face as if to rip off the mask and expose him for what he truly is. But her clawed hand passes through him like he was made of smoke, and he dissipates into thin air before her own eyes.

A beat passes before she realises that the heavy breaths echoing in the empty room are hers, and that her legs suddenly feel as if they were made of water. Stumbling, Marinette braces herself against the nearest wall, trying to keep on her feet as she swallows a screech of rage.

The fire is beginning to burn out, and Marinette clings desperately to its dying motes. Reality’s endless ocean stretches out before her, and she is unwilling to plunge into the grief that will only pull her under.

—

The panic in the city has given way to despair.

Marinette can feel it like a smog settled over Paris, smothering it down and stifling it. The dead roam the streets in droves, looking for all the world as if they were alive if it were not for the hollow looks in their eyes. Their families and friends torn between anguish and fear, sticking close to them or avoiding them entirely. Vaguely, Marinette is aware of her father still getting over his shock at seeing his mother who is supposed to be long gone; a tearful Manon sobbing over the reappearance of her uncle. Old wounds torn anew.

The dead she brings back to life are not really there. Marinette has taken to calling them Echoes; existing in body, docile, but only as a shadow of the people they used to be. Echoes of a human being that had once walked the earth. Marinette stares off into the skyline of Paris, uncaring eyes drifting over the sky. She should have known, really, that even the power of a Miraculous and an akuma combined could not truly bring back the dead.

She was not God.

“You’re back here again.”

She closes her eyes, gritting her teeth. The familiar voice that she’d once longed so much to hear now grates on her nerves like nails on chalkboard.

“I told you to stop coming back,” she says, willing herself not to scream. Screaming didn’t affect the Echo, no matter what words she hurled at it.

“You did,” he acknowledges. “But you also keep calling me to return.”

She turns around to face him, against her better judgement. Sees those soulless green eyes once more, the sad smile seeming permanent now on his face. She misses Adrien’s open, uninhibited smile.

“Go away!” she snaps. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“That’s a lie,” he says. “I wouldn’t be here if that were true.”

She opens her mouth as if to spit another nasty retort, only to snap it closed. He mirrors the pained look she gives him before she spins away to face the deceptively peaceful skyline of Paris that belied the fear ruling over its inhabitants. It’s easier to look at.

“I don’t know,” she murmurs, pressing her palms into the her eyes until spots of light bloom behind her lids. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I… I….”

 _I can’t decide if I want you to go away or for you to never leave again_.

“You’re afraid,” he says. “Afraid to face me. The truth that stands right in front of you.”

“Truth?” she scoffs. “Truth? I look at you and see nothing but a lie.”

“One that you created for yourself,” he says. “You were so insistent on rejecting Adrien’s death that you would rather believe that it never happened. You’d rather fool yourself into believing he was still here. The time is coming for you to accept that he’s—”

“Quiet!” she snaps, gripping her upper arms so hard she might be leaving bruises. “You don’t understand anything.”

“I was created by your memories of Adrien. I _do_ understand.”

His presence seems to grow behind her, but a glance over her shoulder proves that he has not moved any closer.

“I see you are still not ready. I should go.”

 _He’s leaving_.

Horror strikes her like lightning, lancing through her consciousness as if jolting her awake.

“Wait!” she calls out, reaching out a hand as if to grasp his. “Don’t go!”

 _Don’t leave me here_.

He turns back to smile at her from over his shoulder.

“I’ll do anything,” she begs him, desperation seeping through her voice and making it rough, coarse. “Anything you want. If it means you’ll stay.”

 _Stay here with me_.

 _Go away_.

“But I don’t want you to do anything. I just want for you to be happy, My Lady.”

 _Don’t ever come back_.

 _Don’t ever leave again_.

“And that’s not going to happen until you let me go and move on with your life.”

“I can’t!” For the first time, the terror simmering deep in heart boils to the surface, raw in her voice. “I can’t, I just can’t! How can you expect me to just—to just…. I….” She pauses, swallowing, trying to pick up the pieces of her shattered composure. “I could never do that to you.”

 _We’re supposed to be partners_.

He shakes his head. “But you have to, Marinette. You’re strong, stronger than you’ll ever know. You’ll get through this just fine. I know you will.”

 _You’re not him, you have no right to use his voice and speak in his place. Go away_.

She shakes her head again. Whispering now. “I can’t.”

 _You promised that you would never leave me_.

“I’ll see you soon, Princess.”

She snaps her head up but by the time she cares to look, he’s gone.

Just like that, Marinette crumples to the ground, her hand coming up to her cheeks to stem the flow of hot tears as her shoulders quiver with the effort of holding back a wail.

She was not God.

She was only human.

—

Days, weeks pass. Maybe even months. Marinette doesn’t know. Time hardly seemed important enough to remember anymore.

What she does remember are the Echoes.

More and more keep surfacing, in increasingly unnerving ways. Some have returned to the living world incomplete, missing limbs or lower bodies. Some don’t possess a physical body at all and their disembodied voices could be heard in the air. People move in photographs. Reflections of things that weren’t there appear in mirrors and still water surfaces.

Paris has transformed from a thriving metropolis into a ghost town. A mocking reflection of its usual self. A place where everything seemed the same, but radically different if one cared to look closer.

Just like how the figure perched atop of the Eiffel Tower, once a comforting presence of reassurance and safety, now more accurately resembled a prison sentinel. Ever-watching, not allowing escape.

Marinette—or at least, some small part of her still insists on that name—rests her chin on her knee, fiddling with the dark lace of her costume as she watched the streets below with unseeing eyes.

Even now, her twisted power still leaks from her, parts of it visible in the trails of purple mist clinging to her skin and following her every movement. Stopping from actively resurrecting the dead had not kept Necromancer’s powers from brimming to the surface and doing its work. Even now she can feel it bringing back another deformed Echo, one missing an arm and leg.

If she concentrated, if she bothered, Marinette knows she could give him his arm and leg back. Make him whole again. But what does it matter? She’s never getting Adrien back, so what does all this power matter? What does anything matter at all?

Like her own personal ghost that haunted her every step, she feels Adrien’s Echo coalesce behind her.

She doesn’t cry or scream. She doesn’t shout or curse.

Instead, she laughs. Mirthless, cold. More Necromancer than Marinette.

“Back again?” she asks, not turning around. “I thought you would have given up by now.”

“I won’t,” he declares, stepping towards her. The gentle reverberation of his footfalls on the floor thunders through her bones. “And I’ll keep going until you’re free of Hawk Moth’s influence.”

“Free me?” she scoffs, turning to look at him. “And what if I don’t want to be ‘freed’?”

His expression is not angry despite the bite in her words. He looks at her kindly, like Adrien used to.

“The Marinette I know wouldn’t do this. The girl I fell in love with would never willingly hurt someone,” he says, the conviction in his voice like a stake through her heart. She bristles.

“Marinette is dead!” she hisses. “It’s Necromancer, now.”

“No,” he says, taking hold of her hand. She flinches as if his touch was acid. But his grasp is gentle, kind, allowing Marinette to pull away. She doesn’t. She’s not even sure if she wants to. She allows the contact, the touch anchoring her. Neither the burning hot of the razing fire within her nor freezing cold outside threatening to put her out, but the comforting warmth of a steaming mug of chocolate. Craving more of it, she reaches up to hold his hand between both of hers.

He pulls their hands towards him and she lets him, until their hands are resting on his chest. Right over his heart. When she looks up at Adrien’s Echo, she finds him smiling. “See? Marinette is right here.”

Something is in her throat, pounding in her ears, stinging her eyes. When her voice is forced out, it comes as a hoarse whisper. “Why?” she asks him. “Why do you keep trying to help me when all I do is push you away?”

“Because I promised you that I’ll be here for you if ever needed me. And,” he grasps her hands a touch tighter. “I know you’d do the same thing for me.”

“I don’t deserve it,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t deserve your kindness. Not after everything I’ve done.”

“That’s not—”

Echo Adrien pauses, untangling their hands. She misses the contact instantly, wishing to grab onto him again but restrains herself. She clasps her hands behind her back instead, eyes downcast. For a moment, she is distracted by the horrible way the bright orange of his shoes clashes with the rich red of her stockings. She shuts her eyes, waiting for his next words. His rejection of her—

“Marinette, look.”

Something soft pushes gently into her cheek. Its surface is plush and fuzzy and vaguely familiar. Marinette lifts her head.

Familiar powder blue, close-knit yarn.

She stared, uncomprehending for a moment, as if seeing it for the first time.

“You made this for me, remember? For my birthday.”

Adrien’s birthday. The one when he had his first birthday party.

“I could never forget,” she replies, opting to fix her eyes on the comforting sky blue of the scarf for a moment longer before realisation dawns. She glances up at him, eyebrows raising slightly in an odd expression as if her face had forgotten how to express surprise.

“But… how did you know it was me? I thought… you thought it was from your father, and I….”

“Well,” he says, turning the scarf over in his hands. The smile of this echo of Adrien never reaches his eyes, but that’s his sheepish grin that pulls at the corners of his lips and it sends a dull throb in the dull space of her chest. “A smart little lady once said that she signed everything she made, so….”

Flipping over one end of the scarf and proffering it to her, she leans in to look, already knowing what she would find. Embroidered in blue thread, just a shade lighter than the powder blue of the scarf, is her trademark. A mass of loops and floral-like vines subtly forming her name in elegant cursive.

Her breath catches in her throat, a prickling in her heart the first emotion to break the ocean of despair she’d been steadily drowning in. “You… you knew?”

He looks sheepish as he rubs at the back of his neck with his free hand. “Not for a while, but when I did, it felt kind of awkward to bring it up again after so long had passed. I wanted to thank you properly, but there never seemed to be a right time, so…. Thank you, Marinette.”

He reaches up, strokes a finger across her cheek.

“You’re a good person with a kind heart, Marinette. Don’t let this take that away from you.”

Unfurling the scarf, he offers it to her.

She takes it, feels the familiar woolen yarn running through her hands. Eyes roving over it, she inspects it for flaws as she once done what felt like decades ago, when she gave it a last minute once-over before wrapping it up in paper and ribbon. But it looks just like it did on the day she’d finished it, save for a stubborn, faint stain in one corner from what she remembers was Nino’s spilled coffee.

The smile stretching across her lips feels foreign, as if they’d forgotten quite how to do so. Slipping the scarf around her neck, she lets its warm weight settle over her shoulders. The soft material hugs her skin, warm as if someone had just been wearing it. It drives away the cold and even the unnatural purple mist over her skin, the smog curling away from the yarn as if repulsed. For the first time in what feels like ages, she feels something other than despair.

She looks up to see him smiling at her, and it’s his smile. The one that reaches his eyes and makes the green sparkle.

It would be the last time she would ever see that smile, and Marinette drinks it in, willing herself to burn the sight into memory. Taking both his hands when they reached out to her, she intertwines their fingers, closing her eyes. Reaching into herself, she finds the akuma residing within her soul. She takes hold of its fluttering wings, uprooting its grasp on her, and then—

She lets go.

—

Carnations, lilies , and chrysanthemums manage to look different enough from each other despite their same shades of white, their aromas wafting up to tickle her nose from their proximity as the pastel paper wrapping crinkles in her arms. The bouquet cost her a pretty penny, but it was worth it.

This is a visit long overdue after all.

Winter is fast approaching, evident by the frigid chill in the air that stings her cheeks as Marinette makes her way through the cemetery. The grounds are well kept, manicured grass blankets the grounds where burial plots ranging from simple headstones and towering mausoleums spring up from the earth. Statues, granite columns, and marble carvings accompany the graves. Some are laid with flowers, others are bare and weathered, either forgotten or having no more among the living to remember them. The larger, more elaborate mausoleums are kept separate, given their own sizeable spaces.

She comes to a stop in front of one. It is new, the marble pillars and arches still shining white and gleaming in the sun as she ascends the three steps to the tomb. She stops, hesitating beneath the main archway when the tomb comes into view.

Feeling a small pressure at her shoulder, Marinette glances over to see Tikki perched by her cheek, flashing her an encouraging smile.

“I’m right here, Marinette,” she assures her. “But I can leave you alone if you like.”

Returning the smile, Marinette shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. Stay with me.”

Stepping up onto the dais, Marinette is close enough to the tomb to touch it. She runs her hands along the polished marble, fingertips ghosting over the words engraved upon its surface, spelling out his name. Setting down the flowers, Marinette sits on the floor, leaning against the marble block—just like she used to do with Chat when they took breaks during patrols.

The silence rules for a little while longer, before Marinette’s quiet voice breaks it.

“We used to sit like this, remember?” she asks. “Just watching Paris from the top of some building. Our favourite was the Eiffel Tower. We’d race each other to get to the top first. I always won.” She grins, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling. It is inlaid with golden streaks that flow together in the centre to form a gleaming sun, right over the tomb. “You always said it was unfair because I had the better aerial advantage, but with how fast you scaled walls during akuma fights, I sometimes wondered if you let me win on purpose.”

She pauses, finding tranquility in the brief silence rather than the emptiness she’d dreaded. It gives her courage to voice her next words.

“I always wondered, you know,” she tells him, “about who you were under the mask. If you went to school like me. Were you younger? Older? We always seemed to be around the same area at the same time. Maybe you were someone I knew?”

A small chuckle breaks out past her lips. It feels like it’s the first time she’s laughed in years. “And to think you knew who I was. And you never told me. Was it because I kept insisting we keep our identities secret from each other? You’d be the type to do that. What gave me away?” She sighs, shaking her head, though the smile stays. “I guess I’ll never know now.”

Perhaps it was pointless, talking to empty air when the person the words were meant for could never hear them. But for Marinette, she hadn’t felt this light in weeks, and each word that came out of her mouth made the next easier to flow.

She giggles again, nudging the marble with an elbow like she would have to Chat’s ribs. “I can’t believe you thought I was Chloe once! Remember that? Alya sure made a mess of that one.”

The laughter dies down, giving way to the silence of the grave once again. It allows her to catch her breath through a sniffle that works its way past her throat. He is gone. Adrien Agreste, Chat Noir—gone and not coming back. Life without her first love and partner is going to be hard, but she has her life to live. Outfits to design, runways to rule, a name to make for herself.

It was what he would have wanted for her, and living her life to the fullest in his honour is the best way she can think of to remember him. She sniffs again, leaning her full weight against the tomb.

“I’ll miss you, you silly cat.”

No one answers, except for a light sigh from a passing breeze.

But the sun shines brightly, warming Marinette’s damp cheeks as she looks up to the sky and smiles.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was produced as part of a Project Miraculous Ladybug effort. In addition, we would like to thank the following beta readers for making the fic possible: @mimosaeyes and @sarahcada


End file.
